


commutativity of addition

by nausicaa_of_phaeacia



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Abusive Relationships, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Daisy-centric, F/M, Gen, I am just so mad okay, I'm sorry for offending all the eggs and melanzane, Make Daisy Happy, Post-Episode: s03e12 The Inside Man, Post-Episode: s03e16 Paradise Lost, anti Fitzsimmons, anti Lincoln, anti staticquake, makedaisyhappy, not Lincoln friendly, the violence is not graphic but I wanted to tag it, toxic Lincoln/Daisy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-15
Updated: 2016-04-15
Packaged: 2018-06-02 07:36:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6557572
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nausicaa_of_phaeacia/pseuds/nausicaa_of_phaeacia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>May opens Daisy's eyes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	commutativity of addition

**Author's Note:**

  * For [RowboatCop](https://archiveofourown.org/users/RowboatCop/gifts), [zauberer_sirin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/zauberer_sirin/gifts).



> I was going to write something for #makedaisyhappy but had to get rid of my anger first. I don't know if I succeeded but I hope you like this little thing anyway. You can tell pretty precisely at which point I just got overwhelmed by feels (the ending is cheesy, okay).

She can’t say their relationship has ever been running on wheels, okay, but that was never the point of getting together. The point was, well, not exactly companionship, but like a small attempt at spending at least some time with someone who could relate to, who’d understand this new universe she’s been thrown into, who’d need someone to cling onto to be able to stay sane through the first few months – same as her. The point was to shrink this feeling of disorientation to something that’s barely more than a weirdly familiar tinge of regret in her fingertips, to something that’s only to be felt in case of an empty stomach, this hollow feeling beneath her ribs that Daisy knows damn well not to mean hunger.

So of course, it works for a few days, weeks, for a few months, even. There’s enough distraction in the shape of danger for her to keep her mind busy without reflecting on what is between them. And it’s not that bad; it’s a second warm body under the blanket, it’s the officiality of publicly having a comrade-in-arms, someone you’d expect to back up your opinion. It’s also pretty good sex – it could be better, sure, but then again, the same could have been said about all of Daisy’s previous partners –, and sometimes, after hard missions, it’s all Daisy needs to unwind. It’s also all he’s able to offer her at this point, after everything, but it takes her longer than she would have liked to realize that. 

And it’s not really that she’s lost motivation – okay, that sounds cheesy, but she knows she’s always been a fighter. That’s not the question. But to be perfectly honest, she’s lost hope. Or, okay, not even that. It’s more like she just _knows_ that nothing is ever going to change – and considering that, this right here isn’t enough. It’s true that with this job, working at S.H.I.E.L.D., the possibility of getting bored is pretty much zero, what with the matters of life and death and all, this is never going to be something you’ll hear her complain about. But even though this weird clockwork routine of a good-morning kiss, awkward smoothing over indifferences, of swallowed-down retorts, of worryingly frequent makeup sex, of unsolved problems before going to bed, obviously forced professional behaviour, well-practiced neutrality, of choreographed couple time, even though this routine was what Daisy was all too thankful for, initially, it is also what’s driving her crazy, what is making her feel smaller and smaller by the minute while she’s getting more and more comfortable in her own skin. 

And yeah, she doesn’t have a college degree, but even she knows by now what inverse proportionality looks like, and it’s not something she can see herself spend the rest of her life with. It’s not in so many words, but what’s been keeping her awake at night lately is how wrong it feels to share your bed with someone who doesn’t share your view of the world, to “make love” (more like: make yearning) when the person hovering above you shares a gene abnormality but not the reason why you’re putting yourself out there every damn day. 

Of course, it takes time until these things become obvious to her, and realizing how many sleepless nights it has taken her to see this more clearly, more _rationally_ is what hurts most. It’s not really the starting point of their decline, but the first thing that really unsettles her is his remark in the lab, placing himself above her, playing social rank. And it’s going to give her this weird itch for weeks; she categorizes as a weirdly out-of-character stress symptom and tries to forget about it, but she can sense the tension in his shoulders that tells her _there’s something there_ , something he feels he should probably apologize for but doesn’t, really, not properly, anyways.

And just as she feels inclined to just file it under _everyday slip-ups_ , these small things keep happening (or maybe, it’s just that she notices all of them now). He keeps not really siding with her, making her feel guilty for agreeing with her; small things she gets to piece together about his past are pretty much just a little icing on the cake, and she tries _so, so hard_ not to judge him by those, tries to tell him he deserves to be happy, just like everyone else (which, yeah, Daisy can’t deny is something she’s always clung onto). And it’s not until he really, really upsets her by saying that only _some_ should be given a choice, that being Inhuman is some kind of a burden that needs healing, that some of her alarms go off. 

It goes against everything she’s ever tried to stand for, and she keeps thinking how with everyone else, she would just have waited and let them simmer until they’d have come to her and tried to make up for violating her life principles or something. Instead, on the same day, she sort of storms into the room to apologize to him, lets him touch her, follows their established rhythm of magic sorries, of wiping out trouble by pressing skin against skin, of moaning into each other’s ears, of grabbing flesh as if it were a twelve-minutes matter of life and death in itself.

Coulson decides to give Lincoln another chance, take him on a mission, and he does the right thing, works for his spot on the team, and Daisy forgets about all their problems, because this is exactly what she’s been dreaming about: making Lincoln become part of a team, of a small herd or something, okay, because it’s supposed to help him, it’s supposed to provide some support, some guidance, some fundament for decision-making, and it should come with just the right amount of responsibility she thinks he’ll be able to handle. It’s why she kissed him in the first place – not just to keep him from going off the grid again, from letting himself fall back into old, toxic patterns – to show him he wasn’t alone, to show him there are people out there trying to tackle the same challenges, fighting for similar causes, going through the same amount of ups and downs.

And it does make her happy to see him officially become a team member of sorts, of seeing the goals she’s been working towards with regard to him confirmed in a way. It lasts for about a week, and it’s the only week in their relationship where she feels like she might be shining a little.

It’s all over at once when he threatens to kill Coulson, and unexpectedly enough, it’s an intense conversation she gets to have with May that gives her the last hint she needed. To be fair, it’s much less of a conversation than a few-worded piece of advice May delivers while making that one kind of eye contact that tells you that what’s to follow is as far away from a joke as May’s professional behaviour is from her inner landscape.  
“You deserve better,” Melinda tells her as she returns from the training hall’s bathroom, small white towel in hand, doesn’t let her turn the corner before she’s convinced that Daisy received the exact same message that she just sent her way.

She’s not even able to move, to respond even in the slightest; she just freezes there, her back against the corner leading into the hallway, the open water bottle trembling in her hand until she starts spilling its contents onto the floor, only realizing when most of the damage is already done, not bothering to really catch it before it drops. And not to be dramatic, but it’s without picking it up that she stomps into her bunk (the bunk he has invaded, the narrow room that used to provide a small, personal bubble and has long since become a pressure cooker), throws the door wide open, doesn’t wait for him to open his mouth, doesn’t give him a chance to defend himself.

Granted, she manages to deliver almost all of her speech, empty her heart almost completely, and she’s about to triumph inwardly at this small feat (because awkwardly enough, _this_ doesn’t hurt, doesn’t itch, it’s more like taking a good, clean breath after having spent a little too much time underwater) when he throws her against the wall, blue tips visible in the corner of her eyes before she hits her head against the still-open door. And even though she’s walked into the room braced for quite some things, this isn’t what she’s expected all, this wasn’t even on her list, and that’s why it takes her just enough time to be ashamed of the delay until she reacts.

And it’s not the horror of having to hit someone she knows with her powers, because, sadly, that’s something that was delivered with this whole package of making things and people tremble, it’s having to shake someone who’s been pushing inside you mere hours ago, someone who you’ve been supposed to trust with your life (even though, now that she thinks about it, that’s not something that has happened, but it should have, and that hurts, too) that comes as the greatest disappointment. ( _Future nightmare_ , she catches herself mouthing.)

Obviously, the noise they’ve been making doesn’t go unnoticed, and while it’s Jemma she sees first, it’s Coulson whose arms are around her first, not even bothering to check on Lincoln, who is half-hidden under Daisy’s small table, knocked out. She can’t help thinking about Quinn’s cellar, because it’s not like she remembers, but this is what she imagines it to have looked like, because there’s this look on Coulson’s face that Jemma is probably mirroring as she’s lingering in the doorway, afraid to say anything. And it’s now, suddenly, as Coulson is helping her up very gently, that Daisy _understands_ , sees that this is what Jemma should have been doing, that _all this_ (after apologizing to the person indebted to you, running after someone, comforting someone who’s been pulling you towards the abyss, sticking with someone who’s been fighting for themselves, and themselves only) is what Jemma’s never been able to bring herself to do. Which makes the whole thing a lot more tragic than it should be, and it’s why Daisy squeezes her hand this hard as Coulson is leading her out of the bunk and into the kitchen, locks the small room down via fingerprint scan.

She can tell he’s full of questions, but instead of asking, puts on the kettle, gestures towards a red plastic chair, and it is what finally makes her burst into tears, not even bothering to cover her face the way she always would. He doesn’t speak; careful not to make any unnecessary noise, he puts down their mugs, drags the other chair around the corner of the table to sit a little closer.

It takes a little while and a sip of tea until she wipes the sleeve of her training hoodie across her eyes.  
“Sorry,” she mouthes, forcing herself to look up.  
His voice is unbelievably calm.  
“You’ve said that a lot lately,” he offers, and it’s not even a reproach, it’s not something that should make her feel bad; it’s an observation.  
She nods.  
It’s so strange how they don’t need more words. They drink this cheap little herb tea the Koenigs seem to absorb in gallons, press their hands against the warm mugs even after they are empty, shift their weight on the uncomfortable folding chairs.

“Thank you,” she says, her voice still a little hoarse.  
“I didn’t say anything.”  
“Yeah.”  
He smiles a little, careful not to offer something not suitable for the way her face looks right now.  
And that would already be enough, but as he’s collecting her mug to put it into her sink, his hand briefly touches hers, just for a moment, as the tiniest of reassurances, and that’s what finally makes her feel safe again (there is a short, deep sigh of relief involved and she sort of hopes he didn’t hear it).  
“Do you want me to do anything?,” he asks as he’s turning back around.  
“You mean about – I don’t know. I guess he’s going to leave anyway.”

There’s a tiny, shy knock on the door, and Coulson presses his index finger against the scanner again, unlocking the kitchen door. It’s Jemma – of course it’s Jemma, and Coulson is looking at her very sternly, like he already knows what she’s going to say (and if she’s being honest, Daisy knows it, too).  
“He left.” It’s almost a whisper, and Daisy briefly considers giving Jemma a hug, because she looks like she might just break, like this is exactly what she’s been afraid of all along, like this is why she’s been revolving around Fitz, why she’s been wandering through the base like a ghost of herself, carrying this immense amount of guilt on her shoulders (and Daisy realizes that this is exactly what she must have looked like lately, minus her having been sort of railroaded into looking strong, into _taking action_ , into keeping her shit together for the sake of others’ lives, and it’s not like that isn’t what’s kept her sane).

Instead, she just nods, gives Jemma a _thank you_ , tries to unite an _it’s okay_ and a _now you, Jemma_ in one grateful look, doubts to have succeeded, but Jemma nods back with some amount of resolution as she’s walking away, and Daisy can only hope.

Coulson looks like he’s been hoping all along as he turns back to her, about to ask her something, but that’s when Daisy wraps herself around him (not what you think, okay, it’s just gratitude, it’s just hiding a little on Coulson’s shoulder a bit past the usually approved moment to let go). His breath hitches a little, and the careful way he hugs her back, like the pressure of his arms around her might already break her right now, it almost makes Daisy cry a little again, but she manages to keep it together (untangling herself from him helps). She doesn’t have the energy to smile at him right now but decides to squeeze his hand for a fraction of a second (his left hand, on purpose), and he looks like _he_ might cry right now, like he might just melt into water in front of her; she does feel a little ashamed for walking away but she can take only so much in one day.

She ends up sleeping in the containment pod, glad that nobody’s discovered her there so far; her bunk just doesn’t feel like a good place to stay right now.

May wakes her by just walking in, carrying a small plate.  
“Looks like Coulson left this in front of the door,” she states very matter-of-factly, puts it down next to the bed.  
“May,” Daisy says, and she didn’t mean for it to sound like a sigh, it’s just that it’s so early and her hair’s tousled and she’s feeling a little embarrassed.  
“We’re swapping bunks. I moved your stuff.”  
Daisy can’t believe it, and she’s fighting to say at least something in return, because May just – she just _knows_ , okay, and it just feels so infinitely good.  
“Thanks for waking me up,” she ends up calling after May who gives her one of those looks through the pod’s window as she’s walking away, but it leaves Daisy smiling.

There are just so many things on the small plate; there are a few single grapes, two or three apple slices, there are cookies and some beautifully sweet-looking chocolatey things that probably stem from some kind of muesli, there is a generous slice of raisin bread, but the best thing on it is undoubtedly the small glass of chocolate milk standing at the centre.  
It actually makes Daisy laugh, because any other person would die from sugar poisoning after the raisin bread already, but it’s the perfect breakfast for her (and it hits her that Coulson must have been taking mental notes of what he’s seen on her morning plates, because this is actually such a faithful reproduction she could cry).

About half an hour later, Coulson seems to be hovering around the hallway, satellite phone in hand, walking up and down, always near the wall on the far side, like he doesn’t dare to come closer unless he’s invited (the phone call might be fake, but he’s probably not _that_ childish). It makes her smile, because Coulson looks just so incredibly uncomfortable pacing up and down, and she decides to wave at him a little shyly through the window (he looks like he’s been trying not to watch her, but the phone call comes to a pretty immediate end after that as he’s walking over to her). It might all be a sugar high, but she’s pretty sure she’s detected the tiniest blush on his cheeks.

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't even seen the episode (and I don't intend to watch it), so forgive me if the fic's not really canon-compliant, I wouldn't be able to tell.  
> Anyways, I hope you liked it. I'm still angry (I didn't want to read this again right now, so I'm sure there are some mistakes in it, sorry) ... and it's possible that there will be more ragewriting. Unnecessary white male whiners aren't the same thing as abusive white male whiners.
> 
> Vector theory:  
>  _Commutativity of addition_ : u + v = v + u


End file.
